


Chester Mill's Coffee Lounge

by benedictcumberlongpond



Category: Under The Dome (TV)
Genre: M/M, McBarbie Shipper's Club, Smut, m/m - Freeform, multi-chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-18
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/888745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benedictcumberlongpond/pseuds/benedictcumberlongpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Joe is the barista at Chester Mill's Coffee Lounge, working to save money for College - once he finishes high school. One day a mysterious guy with a stupid nickname comes in for a coffee to-go, and the next few years of Joe's life are inadvertently changed by that moment. But he wouldn't have missed it for the world. Warnings for smut, underage, and possible violence in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated, as always, to the McBarbie Shippers Club with special mention to the infallible Ruby.

This story starts in a vast variety of ways, in a hundred thousand coincidences and clichés. 

It starts with a stubbed out cigarette, it starts with the wail of a baby and the insistence of a mother to name that child after her granddad. It starts with a gun gripped loosely but surely in the hand of someone who should never have joined the army at age nineteen. It begins with a brush of dry, bloody lips and a huff of sleep-warm breath, with laughter at a nickname and a sharpie that scrawls messily against the side of a coffee cup. 

But for Joe, it all starts with another fucking customer who doesn’t know the difference between a long macchiato that has been topped up, and a flat white with an extra shot of coffee (pro-tip: _there isn’t one_ ). 

“Joe, just pour the coffee into another cup and tick a different box on the lid and tell the customer you’re very sorry.” His manager suggests, cupping her hand against the mouthpiece of her cell phone and looking stressed. 

Julia always looked stressed. 

Joe learned to just agree with her and roll his eyes when he was tucked behind the metallic bunker of his coffee machine. 

“I’m very sorry,” he tells the customer, handing him the ‘new’ coffee before hunkering down next to the milk steamer and whispering to the mechanics _‘I’m fucking not’_ in the angst-filled voice only a teenager can posses. 

And if Joe wished for something more exciting than coffee beans, and Fate decided it was in a wish-granting mood, then maybe that was where it really started. 

“Joe! Can you take the till?” Julia shouted, and Joe’s ‘happy barista’ expression locked onto his features as he walked to the front of the café

His expression shifted from feigned interest to a self-conscious smile when he saw the man who was waiting. He was the poster boy for civilian masculinity, rough stubble and toned biceps that shifted when his arms went from folded to resting on the counter, eyes blue like highlighter ink and a smile that slipped on easily – the fucking comfortable sandals of smiles. 

“Hey,” Joe said, which was technically incorrect. What he was supposed to say was more along the lines of _hello and welcome to Chester Mill’s Coffee Lounge, my name is Joe and I’ll be your barista for today. Have you heard of our vanilla bean special?_

“Hey,” The guy replied. 

Joe liked him already. 

“What can I get you?” He asked, pulling his pen and ordering pad from the front of his coffee-stained apron, and trying not to feel like the massive, gay dork he was. 

“Coffee to go,” The guy said, eyes scanning the menu before landing back on Joe. “Large, please.”

“Sugar?” Joe asked, thinking about the sheer amount of pick up lines he might have then used and shuddering at all of them.

“Two.” He replied, and Joe couldn’t help but think that maybe the guy had thought about all of those cheesy pick up lines as well. 

“Name on the cup?” Joe asked, scrawling the order onto the pad. 

“Barbie,” he spoke without hesitation, and seemed to look at Joe for the precise moment that the sound waves from his mouth reached Joe’s ear, the meaning of them shooting into his brain and making his lips quirk immediately. 

“Barbie?” 

“It’s… uh-” The guy looked down, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck like maybe he was used to the embarrassment but he hadn’t expected it anyway. Joe felt immediately guilty, but his lips just wouldn’t stray from the smile they had set themselves in. “It’s a nickname.” The guy explained. 

“Barbie.” Joe said, writing the name down at the top of the pad and ripping off the sheet, shoving it into his apron pocket, thinking that ‘Barbie’ looked more like GI Joe. “Your coffee will just be a moment.” 

“Thanks, kid.” Barbie replied

“Uh, Joe.” He said quickly, before he could think better of it. “My name is Joe.” 

“Joe,” Barbie repeated, smiling conceedingly and making Joe’s cheeks heat. 

God he was so awkward.

It was bad enough he had the brand of ‘homosexual’ lurking under his skin, ready to crawl out and brand him in searing marks so that everyone in the small town would look at him like he was a damn alien – but he wasn’t even a _good_ homosexual. He was about as awkward as men as he was with women, the solid difference being that one of those two groups included people that he wanted to achieve intercourse with. 

He sighed. 

At least he knew how to make a great cup of coffee. 

The sound of whirring steam filled his ears as he heated the milk, the coffee spluttering into the franchise cup. When he looked up from his post he saw the Barbie was leaning on the railing, opposite the coffee machine, literally within touching distance and smiling at him as if he had just heard Joe’s entire monologue. 

Oh God. 

“Did I say that out loud?” Joe asked suddenly, his grip shifting on the rapidly heating jug. Barbie raised his eyebrows. 

“That thing about being attracted to me?” Barbie asked, and Joe swallowed loudly.

“Fuck,” he said, “Uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mea-”

“I’m kidding.” Barbie’s grin was so wide he thought it was going to split his face. “You didn’t say anything. But thanks for the accidental compliment.” 

Joe’s mouth was hanging open, he could feel the shape of it in a little ‘o’ as he considered what had just happened. 

“Dick move,” Joe said, shaking his head but letting a smile creep onto his features. 

“I’m sorry, Joe.” Barbie said insincerely. “I’d buy you a coffee to make up for it, but you’re probably sick of the stuff.” 

Joe knew he was blushing now, very aware of the unstoppable smile on his lips as he poured the hot milk into the cup and picked up his sharpie, scrawling his number in a slightly-shaking hand that translated to slightly shaky handwriting. 

“My breaks are at five thirty every day,” Joe answered. “And I could never be sick of coffee.” 

Barbie took his coffee and gave him a quick wink, heading out the door with a sway to his hips that must have been at least a little put on because otherwise it was just _unfair_ for an ass that good to be able to move like that. 

“Joe! Till!” Julia called, and Joe snapped out of his man-induced-haze and went back to the front of the shop. 

Despite his teenage hopes, Barbie wasn’t waiting for Joe when five thirty came around: all his fantasies of face-splitting smiles and sharing coffee banished when he came out to the café area to find only three people were in the shop. He took his cappuccino and complementary staff banana bread in silence, fiddling on his phone and wondering if Barbie was just humoring him. 

The thought of him, all blond hair and taut muscle, laughing to himself as he walked out of the café and throwing the cup away carelessly with Joe’s number forgotten and his come-ons new fodder for funny stories with his other (probably attractive) friends while Joe was left to eat his banana bread. 

Messily, as well, before going back to his work post and making coffee for more citizens of Chester’s Mill until Julia dubbed it time to close, asking Joe to finish sweeping the floors and then lock up. 

It wasn’t until he had got home, done his homework, and stumbled into bed that he realized he had left his phone at work. 

It was only 9 p.m., and it took Joe until 9:15 p.m. to weigh up the pros and cons before groaning internally in his loudest teenage timbre and pulling his sneakers on under the sweat pants he wore to bed, tugging a hoodie over his loose grey sleep shirt and scowling his way to the garage to pull out his bike. 

His fingers were numb when he got to the coffee shop, infinitely strange looking now that it was so late. It looked like some kind of skeleton, all reflective glass and coffee-stained pavement that looked too dark by the light of the moon and flickering fluorescent of the street lamps.

“Too late for a coffee?” the voice was close and sudden, making Joe drop the keys in his hand and start violently, hands jumping to the mace in his pocket before he realized who had spoken.

Barbie was in dark jeans and a military-cut black jacket, looking like a model for the cover of a Young Adult Vampire Romance Novel, his eyes bright and his smile lopsided. 

Joe huffed out a laugh, body relaxing. “You shouldn’t drink coffee at nine p.m., Barbie. You won’t sleep properly.” 

Barbie quirked an eyebrow. “Who says I wanted to sleep?” 

There was a long silence that followed his words in which Joe was given time to think a variety of things, the first of which being _I am wearing pyjamas,_ the second of which being, _I’m ninety percent sure that was a pick up line,_ and the third of which, _it’s fucking cold._

“So are you going to let me in?” Barbie asked, hands in pockets, gesturing to the door of the café with a tilt of his head as if it were Joe’s apartment rather than the place he worked for extra cash because his mom was friends with the owner. 

That didn’t stop the over-eager “Sure,” from escaping his mouth though, numb fingers pressing the key into the lock and turning, pushing buttons on the security alarm pad. He flicked on one of the lights, giving the place a dim, yellow glow that seemed almost intimate. Joe wondered if he should turn on another light, but then Barbie was shuffling in the door and looking around the deserted café area as if assessing it. 

“What are you doing here so late, Joe?” he asked eventually.

“I left my phone here,” Joe explained sheepishly, moving over to the coffee station and finding his phone tucked underneath the spill tray. He pocketed it, zipping it into his hoodie and turning to find that Barbie had followed him behind the counter and they were now in insanely close proximity: something that maybe should have intimidated or frightened Joe but instead made his pulse pick up for an entirely different reason. 

“Why are you here so late?” Joe asked, his voice lower and kind of breathy. 

Barbie shrugged, a secret kind of smirk in the corner of his mouth. “I was walking home, saw you on your bike.” 

“So you followed me?” Joe asked, feeling more hopeful than freaked out. “For… coffee?” 

Barbie’s smirk intensified. “Sure,” he conceded, stepping close and taking his hands out of his pockets, placing them on Joe’s face as if cradling his features. They were warm and large, callousness making his too-soft skin prickle at every point of contact. “For _coffee._ ” The way he said it made it sound taboo and dangerous and interesting, and it took Joe’s eyes a moment to adjust to the fact that it wasn’t a trick of the light – Barbie’s face was moving closer. 

Soon they were almost nose to nose, and Joe unconsciously tipped his head, his heart beating loudly in his ears and his hands shaking where they were by his sides, Barbie’s warm breath splaying over his features like fingers. He was so close he could taste that breath, warm and sweet and vaguely harsh – like vodka or whiskey. 

“Joe,” Barbie said his name almost reverently, kind of warningly, so many adverbs that it made Joe’s head spin and it took him a moment to realize that Barbie was waiting for him to reply. 

“Mm?” he offered, eyes half mast with the effort of tracking his movement, darting from his wide eyes down to where Barbie’s mouth must have been barely an inch from his. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, and for some reason that made Joe shudder. 

He had hoped to say something cool – or at least something expected. Maybe ‘yeah’, or ‘sure’, or ‘it’s more than okay’. What came out of his mouth instead was a desperate kind of noise, rising from his throat and getting caught in the space between them as the word took form and was finalized: 

_“More,”_

Barbie’s hands tightened against his face, pulling him so suddenly that Joe surged up to his toes, fingers clutching quickly to the lapels of Barbie’s jacket and clinging on as their mouths met. 

He tasted exactly how Joe expected, like a shot of straight vodka or the spicy aftertaste of marijuana, his lips soft in contrast to the stubble scratching against Joe’s chin and cheeks. 

There was a tongue against the seam of his lips, and Joe willingly opened to let Barbie touch the inside of his mouth, tracing his tongue softly across his teeth and against his own tongue until it came to life, their tongues then twining lazily until Barbie withdrew, choosing instead to scrape teeth delicately against Joe’s plush lower lip. 

It seemed to go on for ages, this push-pull of kissing until they were both breathless and their lips were cherry-red from careful nips and constant pressure. Joe’s whole mouth felt like it was pliant and loose and he wanted more, and when he bit down against Barbie’s lip with slightly more force, the older man huffed out a breath into Joe’s mouth and his hands moved from his face down to his waist, fingers tightening against the loose fabric of his sweatpants and pulling closer, so Joe’s hips were pinned against Barbie’s and he felt his cock start to respond, hardening in the confines of his pants. 

He tried not to push too insistently against Barbie’s thigh, but when Barbie felt the first brush of hardness he gave a quiet moan into Joe’s mouth and his hands moved around his body to cup his ass, pulling it tightly against him so the friction against Joe’s erection made lights explode behind his eyes, a gasp wrenched from his chest as their lips finally parted. 

Barbie looked focused, his hands against Joe’s ass pulling his cock into Barbie’s denim clad thigh as if he was riding it, making his eyes roll slightly with how good that felt and he made a pathetic kind of whining noise, head falling forward to rest on Barbie’s shoulder, breath puffing over his neck. 

“God, Joe.” Barbie said, his voice husky as his head tipped to the side, giving Joe room to suck and nip at his throat, and when Joe’s leg felt Barbie’s stirring cock pressing against the denim of his jeans, a new level of desperation came over him. 

God, this was wrong.  
He was basically rutting against a stranger at his place of work, but he couldn’t bring himself to care when his fingers skated over Barbie’s jacket, tugging the zip down and tossing it over his shoulders to reveal the indecent t-shirt underneath that clung to Barbie’s body like a second skin. 

Joe’s fingers pressed against the skin of Barbie’s abdomen, reaching underneath to pull the shirt up and off his head, revealing all that toned muscle and imperfect skin, scars randomly dispersed over his torso in a pattern that Joe found he wanted to learn. He felt Barbie’s fingers at his back and realized that Barbie was simultaneously trying to undress him.

It became a scramble then, both of them breaking away minutely to tug clothes off each other, taking time to kiss and lick and bite at the new skin, Joe having to stop when Barbie finally got his shirt off and immediately began licking at his chest, pressing sucking kisses to his nipples and then biting down, making him gasp and arch into the touch, silently begging for more to which Barbie seemed all too happy to offer, licking and scraping teeth over the reddened flesh with a reverence that made Joe’s breath stutter. 

Barbie was still paying attention to his chest when his clever fingers made their way to Joe’s sweat pants, tugging them down to his thighs and pressing the palm of his hand against his erection. 

“Fuck.” Joe managed, and Barbie smirked against his chest, moving down further to suck hickeys into the skin over his ribs, then down to his stomach and across his hips. 

Barbie was on his knees now, staring up at Joe with wide eyes as he slowly tugged down Joe’s underwear to reveal his slightly leaking cock. 

Joe’s mind blanked, English becoming a second language to the overwhelming language that Barbie was teaching him that seemed to mostly consist of words like ‘nngf’, ‘god’, and ‘fuck.’ 

He was reduced to something less than that when Barbie took his cock into his mouth. 

Barbie’s reddened lips were stretched obscenely against the head of his dick, tongue laving over the slit before pressing in slightly, mouth hot and wet and perfect. 

Barbie pulled back and pumped at Joe’s dick with his large hand, “Got such a pretty cock, Joe.” Barbie breathed, lapping at the tip. “Going to make you come in my mouth, that ok with you?” 

“Shit, Barbie, _fuck.”_

“Mm, sounds like you love me sucking your sweet cock, Joe?” 

Joe made a strangled kind of noise, hands coming to rest on Barbie’s hair, tightening into fists when Barbie leant forwards and took all of Joe’s cock into his mouth, tip sliding into the impossible heat of his throat. 

“Jesus,” 

Barbie pulled off carefully, just suckling at the tip as his hands played over Joe’s thighs, fingers hot points of pressure. 

“Gunna come in my mouth, Joe?” Barbie asked, the answer obvious in the groan in his throat and the twitch of his dick in Barbie’s hand. He smirked knowingly and sunk his mouth back onto Joe’s cock, sucking harshly a few times before swallowing him down, and Joe’s hands must have been painful in his hair, but he was so close, and God he was going to come in Barbie’s mouth, and he looked beautiful, and Joe didn’t entirely understand how all this was happening. 

The answer became obvious the moment he came, warmth spreading across his belly as his dick twitched in the confines of his sleep pants, making him jerk awake in bed and take a moment to assess his surroundings. 

“Fuck,” Joe whispered, cursing his teenage imagination when he spotted his phone on the bedside table – so just a dream then. 

A good dream, nonetheless. 

The part of Joe that was hoping Barbie would come in to work today cringed slightly at the connotations of seeing him after having a vivid sex dream about him…

A glance at his alarm clock told him he had bigger things to worry about though, so he rolled out of bed to clean himself off and get ready for school, remembering some of the moments in the sex dream and thinking that his subconscious was _seriously_ kinky. 

“Joe! Do you need a lift?” Angie’s voice penetrated through the walls of his room and he swore, scowling as he pulled jeans on. 

“No thanks, Ange!” Joe called, mentally calculating if he had time to eat breakfast – no, have a shower – no, pull a shirt and shoes on, brush his teeth, shove his books into a bag and then ride his bike faster than he was probably physically capable – just, maybe. 

He tripped down the stairs slightly on his way out the door, slamming his knee into the banister and cursing loudly. 

Just another moment that inadvertently began another story.


	2. Chapter 2

The only thing more soul-crushing than a full day of the American Education System, was a full day of the American Education System followed by a four hour shift on minimum wage at a franchise coffee shop.

Still, Joe mused, things could be worse. 

He _could_ have been a closet gay in a small town who was having sex dreams about older men who he had briefly met and almost-flirted with. 

“Oh wait,” Joe murmured to himself. “That is my life.” 

“What was that?” Julia asked upon hearing Joe’s voice

“Nothing,” Joe said quickly, giving her a dorky smile as he turned on the milk steamer and effectively ended the conversation. Julia rolled her eyes, gesturing to the clock hanging above the machine that signaled it was time for Joe’s break. 

Joe turned down the milk steamer to hear what she was trying to communicate. 

“Take this coffee to table twenty-two and then you can go on your break.” She said, and Joe nodded quickly, adding the coffee shot and two sugars to the cup. Soon he was placing the mug on the saucer, internally praising himself for another excellent coffee, and balancing it on a tray as he stepped around the counter towards table twenty two, setting the mug down carefully. 

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, the question leaving his mouth as his eyes made contact with the man at the table. And it was lucky he had spoken before seeing that it was Barbie, otherwise the question may have sounded more like “Can I – _hngg_ fuck.” 

Barbie, for his part, just grinned. “Coffee’s fine.” He answered. “You on break?” 

“I- yeah.” Joe stuttered, thinking _don’t look at his mouth, McAlister, don’t you dare._

“Care to join me?” He asked, licking his lips – which just wasn’t fair, and Joe was powerless to do anything aside from nod carefully and pull out the chair opposite Barbie, sitting down cautiously. 

“Good day, kid?” Barbie asked, picking up his coffee and sipping it, smiling. 

“Alright,” Joe replied. “School.” He added with a shrug. 

Barbie gave a consenting nod. “School can be rough. What’s your favorite subject?” 

Joe couldn’t tell if he was interested in a your-best-friend’s-dad interested way, or in a I-am-genuinely-interested way, but Joe answered anyway – thinking about saying something cool like ‘sport’ or ‘drama’, but ending up just telling the truth. 

“I like math,” Joe said. “I like how it… makes sense.” 

Barbie quirked an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have picked it. That’s pretty cool, Joe.” 

Joe felt a blush on his features for no specific reason. “How about you?” He asked vaguely. “What do you do?”

Barbie seemed to consider this, bringing his coffee back to those lips again – all plush and pink and _fuck, Joe,_ do _not_ get hard. 

“I’m ex-military.” Barbie said, putting the mug down. “Joined when I was nineteen.” 

“Huh,” Joe replied, his brain helpfully supplying images of Barbie in camouflage. Barbie out of camouflage. “What was that like?” 

Barbie shrugged. “Hot.” 

“Yeah,” Joe agreed, mentally ignoring the fact Barbie was probably referring to the weather. 

Joe was surprised at himself at the end of his thirty minute break to discover that he had spent the whole time talking to Barbie – and not even awkward talking, an actual conversation. 

“I’ll see you around,” Joe said when Julia had given him a meaningful look and pointed to her wrist. 

“Working tomorrow?” Barbie asked casually. 

“Yeah,” Joe answered, too-eager and smiling too-wide. 

“See you then.” Barbie said. 

And he did. 

By the fifth day in a row Joe could make a cappuccino with two sugars, balance a plate of banana bread and his own black coffee easily on his way to the two-seated table near the window by 5:01 p.m.

“How’d you go on the trigonometry test?” Barbie asked, breaking off a piece of banana bread and popping it in his mouth. 

“Ninety-two.” Joe grinned, tipping sugar into Barbie’s coffee and stirring it quickly, licking foam off the spoon he had used and sliding the mug over to Barbie’s side of the table. 

“Highest in the class?” Barbie asked, grinning. 

Joe just nodded, and Barbie’s smile widened. “Told you so, you owe me free coffee.” 

“You just got a free coffee, Barbie.” Joe rolled his eyes. Barbie shrugged, sipping at the coffee in question and making a little satisfied noise. 

“S’good.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Joe teased. 

They had spoken two hours in total, when Joe actually thought about it – Monday through to Friday full of easy conversation, caffeinated beverages, and Joe’s over-active imagination providing him with sexual fantasies to go with every new fact he learnt about Barbie – Dale “Barbie” Barbara, that was. Joined the army when he was nineteen, went on two tours before coming back – that was eighteen months of Afghanistan Barbie had experienced. He was an only child and his dad had died a few years ago, his mum was in Chicago and his best friend was still over in Afghanistan. 

He still wore his dog tags, occasionally taking them out and fiddling with them during stories about his army days. He was currently working in construction, helping build a house in Chester’s Mill and leaving in six months if everything went to plan (Joe secretly hoped it didn’t.) 

Joe had taken to structuring his days around visits with Barbie and school, including three new pastimes into his mental schedule, which were:

1) Talking to Norrie – his best friend who insisted on being his ‘straight cover’ until he was ready to come out, about whatever he and Barbie had discussed. She was pretty much his only friend, plus it felt good to get this stuff off his chest. 

2) Preparing witty conversation to have with Barbie in case he ran out of things to say (he hadn’t so far, but he had a whole planned conversation about convection angles and giraffes planned, just in case.) 

3) Masturbating about Barbie (usually taking place around 10 p.m. in his own bed, with increasingly detailed fantasies and an increasingly busy left hand.)

This evening was no exception, especially after Barbie had fiddled with those dog tags most of their conversation today. Now he was imagining tugging him forward by the chain and planting a kiss on those plush lips, slipping his tongue inside that wet, hot mouth. 

God, he had a fixation on Barbie’s mouth. 

He had imagined it on every possible part of himself – biting down his neck, suckling at his nipples, wrapped around his cock – even rimming. Even though Joe was too embarrassed to even think the word without blushing. 

It didn’t matter when he was by himself, spread out against his bed covers with his sweat pants pooled around his knees and his shirt rucked off, right hand slowly squeezing his cock while his left hand danced across his chest and over his stomach, rubbing soothing circles and occasionally pinching, or scraping nails across his smooth skin. 

He imagined Barbie between his thighs, pressing them apart to look at Joe – his hard cock, his ass already wet from lube and loosened (due to masturbating five nights in a row), he imagined him leaning down to suck at the skin between his thigh and his pelvis, imagined him licking at the skin behind his balls, imaging his tongue flicking teasingly over his hole – and god Joe was leaking now, his cock straining against his stomach, desperate for attention. 

In his mind Barbie would man-handle his legs, throwing them over his shoulders to nuzzle into the soft cheeks of his ass, tongue probing and pushing and tasting, fingertips teasing over Joe’s cock – he mimicked the action in his head, groaning quietly, finger slowly pressing into his hole. He could almost feel it – like the phantom scratch of stubble against his thighs, the warm breath of a chuckle against the sensitive skin of his ass. 

It never took long for Joe to finish. 

Saturday loomed, plan-free and work-filled, and Joe dimly wondered if Barbie was going to come in at five even though it was the weekend. 

He rode to work with that in his mind – that niggling feeling that maybe he was going to have to work a normal shift. Serve normal coffee and put on a normal smile and at five o clock not sit down with Dale Barbara and talk to someone openly. 

Talk to someone who actually seemed interested, past the fakeness and ignorance of peers at school, past the enthusiasm and in-depth-sexual-detail of Norrie, past the parental concern of his mom and dad. 

His legs were pumping half heartedly on the pedals of his bike and he was almost late when he finally pulled up at Chester’s Mill Coffee Lounge. 

“Here we go,” he told himself, pulling his apron on and walking out to the main area of the shop, smiling at Julia and waving at a few regulars. Onto his normal day of work. 

12 p.m. – No, man-in-big-red-hat, we don’t have full cream milk. 

1 p.m. – No, girl-in-jeggings, I will not accept your number from this napkin. I will put this napkin in the bin. 

2 p.m. – Yes, lady-in-sweat-pants, that is a double shot of coffee in your cappuccino. Yeah, that _does_ make the coffee taste stronger. That’s why I thought you ordered it. That’s the _whole fucking point_ of asking for an _extra shot of coffee._

3 p.m. – “Which ones the latte and which ones the flat white, Joe?” “There is literally no difference.” 

4 p.m. – Shit. Fuck. Hot steam. Fuck. Where are the fucking bandaids. Shit fucking fuck it all. 

5 p.m. – “Ok, Joe. You can go talk to your boyfriend.” Julia says, rolling her eyes as Joe steps around the counter with two coffees and his banana bread. 

Barbie waves at him. 

Joe’s stomach flips over and then rights itself. 

“How was your day?” Barbie asks, nabbing Joe’s cup to add his sugar before switching them back around, adding sugar to his own cup 

“Alright,” Joe says, grinning like mad. 

“What’d you do to your finger?” Barbie gestures one-handed as he sips his coffee. 

“Milk steamer.” Joe replies, still grinning, and Barbie shakes his head. 

“Idiot,” he says, picking the crust off the banana bread and popping it in his mouth, like it isn’t a fucking miracle that he’s sitting here, like Joe’s pulse hasn’t been racing like crazy since four thirty at the prospect of seeing him. 

“So what shall we talk about today, Joseph?” Barbie asks, running a callused hand through wind-tousled hair, momentarily distracting Joe. 

“Um,” Joe manages 

“How about I tell you a story ‘bout my first job?” Barbie tries 

“At the mechanic?” 

“That’s the one.” 

“Shoot.” 

6 p.m. – wave to Barbie, don’t make eye contact with Julia, no man-in-hideous-sweater, we are not open for another hour. We close in half an hour. You have to be gone by then. 

7 p.m. – finish sweeping, lock the door, ride bike home, masturbate, fall into bed. 

Except that’s not entirely what happens. 

Its 7:15 p.m. when Joe is riding down the creepy-interlude of his way home, past the park that seems to always have one car parked there at every hour of the day. He keeps his eyes down and peddles a bit faster, but then he hears that voice. 

“-not happy, Pete. He’s not fucking happy at all.” Barbie is talking harshly, angrily, and it’s completely different. Joe’s eyes automatically seek him out and eventually spot the blur of his shape, kneeling over someone, and _holy shit_ – he has a gun in his hand. 

Joe stops peddling. 

“I need another week-” 

"You don’t have another week.” Barbie cuts off the frantic voice and Joe belatedly realizes that the guy under Barbie is Pete Shumway, Julia’s husband. “I need the money now, Peter.” 

“Hey, fuck you, I got you half.” Peter sneers, and then he’s pulling something from behind his back – 

It’s another gun. 

_Does everyone except me have a gun right now?!_ Joe shouted internally, the thought making him realize that he was out in the open and he pushed his bike into some bushes, kneeling behind a tree to observe the scene even though every instinct he has is telling him to _get the fuck away._

“Let’s not do this, Peter.” Barbie says, and Joe is close enough to recognize panic around his eyes even though his mouth is set in a resolute line, his hands unshaking and his stance powerful. 

Peter looks like a mess next to this machine of a man, and Joe gets the feeling like he’s seeing a completely different Barbie: he’s seeing Dale Barbara who did two tours of Afghanistan, who drinks his coffee scalding and who has scars on his arms. 

“You have until tomorrow.” Barbie tells him, and Peter shakes his head. 

“That’s not enough time.” He sounds desperate but his gun is still pointed at Barbie. “I’m sorry.” He adds, and Joe can sense the miniscule movement that involves squeezing the trigger. 

Unfortunately for Pete, apparently so can Barbie. 

It’s a duck, a succession of two loud bangs, a flinch and a shudder – and then Barbie is standing over Pete’s inert body shaking his head, and Joe’s hand is clamped so tight over his mouth he thinks he might actually suffocate himself. 

He can’t move. 

Pete is _dead._

Barbie just shot a guy. 

Barbie, who is now running towards his car and pulling something out of the boot, and Joe needs to get the _fuck_ out of here. 

He’s not sure if Barbie sees him, when he picks his bike up and jumps on, peddling quickly and determinedly away from the scene until he is at home, where he’s still shaking and the muscles in his legs are twitching like they want to keep peddling – get him out of Chester’s Mill and away from this place. 

God, what was he supposed to do? 

Call the police? 

Go back to work and pretend that nothing happened? 

He was breathing heavily, gasps of air coming to him. It was only 7:30. 

He dumped his bike and ran upstairs, slamming the door to his room and stripping out of his work uniform, pulling on pajamas at random and then collapsing on his bed with his face buried in his pillow, silent screams coming out of his mouth. 

There’s a knock at the door. 

There’s the vague sound of his parent’s voices. 

There’s the rumble of another voice. 

His parents are coming up to his room. 

“Joe?” His dad asks, sounding suspicious. “There’s a guy here who wants to see you?” 

Joe would rather spend a full day in the American Education System. 

He makes himself go downstairs anyway, tripping slightly on the too-long sweat pants he had put on, stepping towards the door and feeling somehow unsurprised to see Barbie there. 

“Hey, kiddo.” He says simply, holding up Joe’s phone. 

Joe’s phone that was definitely in his pocket when he left work – he realizes it must have fallen out when he was… 

_At the park._

“Hello, Dale.” Joe manages, wondering if Barbie is going to kill him. But he doesn’t, he just hands Joe the phone and smiles sadly. 

“I’m leaving town. Maybe I’ll see you later, okay?” Barbie says, but Joe can tell it’s just one of those things that adults say. Joe nods stiffly. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” His mouth whispers, even though his brain hasn’t decided that yet. Barbie leans down, so quickly Joe hadn’t anticipated it, and he kisses him on the cheek – his lips are dry and his stubble scratches across Joe’s soft skin. 

“Thanks, kid.” Barbie says, and then he’s jogging towards his car. 

And Joe thinks, _there’s probably a dead body in the back of that car._

And Joe also thinks, _Barbie just kissed me on the cheek._

And Joe then thinks, _Seriously, brain? You are kind of fucked up._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOH THINGS ARE HAPPENING WOW GOOD TIMES

**Author's Note:**

> Updates will be soon, I hope! Thank you for reading xox.


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